Conscience
by Royal Lunatic
Summary: Rewritten. A group of seniors find themselves taking part in the deadliest game of all. Their captors call themselves mercenaries: but who is the paymaster?
1. Prologue

**Excerpt from intercepted transmission. **

_Voice 1 (Male, medium pitched, age range estimated as between 30-40 years. This voice has the manner of somebody who is attempting to assert authority. However, tremors in speech betray either extreme anxiety or fear) : 9:01 AM_ "_Zeek_... _Zeek_… _Jesus, are you even there?" _

_Voice 2 'Zeek?' (Also male, somewhat higher pitched than voice 1. Estimated age is mid to late twenties. The second speaker has a curt manner of talking, an edge of irritation clear in his tone. It seems likely this is due to a dislike of the first speaker, although outside circumstances cannot be ruled out): 9:01 AM_ "_Yeah I'm here. Calm the fuck down man. Everything's under control,"_

_(a lengthy cessation in conversation ensues, although the sound of a person rapping their fingers repeatedly on a hard surface of some sort can be heard for the majority of this time. In the background, a number of times, gentle murmurs are audible. However, the audio cannot be boosted to a sufficient quality for anything significant to be made out) _

_Voice 1 (The façade of confidence appears to slip for this speaker at this point, as his nervousness/fear is barely concealed. Obviously he must not handle pressure very well, despite seemingly being the superior of the others in the conversation): 9:02 AM "You got the kids yet?"_

_Voice 2 'Zeek?' (At this point the speaker seems to lose his temper for a brief instant, snapping his reply at high volume before apparently reigning in his annoyance in order to finish speaking. Post this point though, this speaker's voice retains a large measure of frustration in his speech): 9:03 AM_ "_NO! For fuck's sake…we're going there now,"_

_(there is the sound of a weapon being cocked, an educated guess places it as a small arm of some description)_

_Voice 3 (The third speaker is female, with a medium pitched voice. However, she seems younger than her counterpart 'Zeek', and estimates place her at under the 25 year mark. She has a distinctive drawl and appears to be entirely at ease, with little emotion entering her tone aside from a measure of bravado): 9:03 AM "Locked, loaded, and ready to kick ass,"_

_Voice 2 'Zeek?' (Here the speaker sounds much less angry (probably because the subject of his irritation is the first speaker, and indeed, he proceeds to chuckle after speaking, perhaps indicating he is making a jest): 9:03 AM "It took you long enough Alexis, I've seen monkeys prepare faster than you,"_

_Voice 3 'Alexis?' (Presumably. The reaction of the third speaker appears to indicate that she is friendly with the second (Zeek?) as her response belies any kind of hostility): 9:03 AM "Hahaha,"_

_(A second pause begins here, although this is shorter than the first by a not-insignificant margin, the sound of rapping fingers resumes, with a notable increase in volume, as if the person performing the action is more anxious now than previously)_

_Voice 1 (Once again, the speaker is apparently making an attempt to reassert himself, or at least be seen to be taking part. As before, the act isn't entirely convincing, nevertheless, it seems a genuine effort to encourage the others): 9:04 AM "Good luck guys. Here's hoping for a successful mission,"_

_Voice 2 'Zeek?' (The second speaker doesn't take kindly to this interjection, unsurprising considering his earlier response to his superior's interference and responds in kind. This leads me to speculate the first speaker is only in charge nominally, as soldiers would be unlikely to get away with such insubordination under normal circumstances): 9:04 AM "Look 'Boss' cut the crap and let us do our job… fucking faggot… (this last is muttered under his breath – the speaker probably thought a direct insult was taking it too far)"_

_(There is the sound of a deep sigh, and a two second pause before the transmission is terminated)_

_Duty officer's notes: Although a trace was attempted on this transmission, initial attempts at tracking it ended in failure. The coding on the message was eventually cracked, but by the time this had been achieved, it would be many weeks too late to track down the perpetrators. However, as we all know, by that point tracing the communication was a moot accomplishment, as at that time, it was more or less irrelevant information._

_

* * *

  
_

**Extract from the diary of Geoff Deeps**

…_Can't fucking believe we lost again today. I swear that half of our team is there just to make up numbers. Hell, I'm pretty much just there to put eleven men on the field as it is, I've about one iota more skill than those others and that's about it… Tch. We came so close though, that's what was so frustrating about it... I've heard soccer described as a 'funny old game' - fickle more like it. Took the lead early on and were in control for the majority of the match, then we got suckerpunched twice within the last five minutes of time. That loss moves us into a commanding eleventh position... out of twelve. Yep, our school soccer team sure is the pride of the year._

…_In other news that douche of a best friend Peter was trying to hit on a couple of the girls; again. Heh, at least it was some of the nicer ones, Chantal Villiers and that Sarah Beau, they had the decency to let him down gently. Peter has had problems with girls in the past, most specifically with that ... unprintable Mari Laret. He doesn't really have the best of the luck with the ladies my pal. Poor Peter… I guess he just doesn't see that he hasn't got that special something that girls look for. Neither do I_ _for that matter. No, it's the cute kids like Deacon which the chicks go for, I almost feel sorry for him too, he always has girls fawning over him, and he hates it… Deak just wants to go out and do his sports and that sort of thing, but wherever he goes he has the chicks lined up beside him for another chance to flirt. He's hardly a flustered innocent about it, but I guess it must be difficult for a guy who likes to be on his own or just with friends to suddenly having to fend off infatuated members of the fairer sex every five minutes... maybe now he claims to have found that 'special someone' they'll leave him along, but I doubt it, ha! Funny that the guy who's barely interested has to fend off the girls with both hands, whereas the other two of us, who would very much like to get a girl would be lucky to have a single person approach us. And even then it would be a prank._

… _De Viet was being his usual assholish_ _self. Today he was picking on that Sammar_ _kid. Jeez, the shit that guy goes through is absolutely unbelievable. He's a big man, that's for sure, and in a way, I think that just makes it worse. For De Viet, bigger equals tougher, and he seems to get a kick out of beating down on somebody larger than he is, disregarding the fact he couldn't punch his way out of a wet paper bag. But I suppose that's De Viet. He doesn't have the guts to go after anybody brave enough to stand up for themselves. I guess that's why he targets me on occasion too; he knows I won't fight back. Then he laughs,_ _that fucking laugh… I'm glad I started hanging around with Deak, because that limits my attractiveness as a target. De Viet gets a double whammy there: he doesn't want to risk Deak joining Kay's footballers by beating up on one of his buddies, and he's afraid that picking on somebody with a tough friend won't make said friend too happy. Good thing De Viet is mostly wrapped up in that little schism the football team has got going on these days. Never thought I'd be thanking Andrew Kay for something... _

…_finished that book today._ _It was pretty good even if I do say so myself. Gives you some food for thought, like: 'what would I do in that position?' certainly makes you think… Still, it was hardly a masterpiece for the ages, even if it was an entertaining read. Trouble is, now I have to find something else to take along on the senior trip. Reading fast is a bitch eh? ... Well, it's late, and I can't think of anything else to write. Sayonara diary._

_

* * *

  
_

**A hidden location.**

"So everything's in place?"

The man known as Boss looked up from his desk, still holding his transmitter in one hand, looking fraught with worry. Boss was slight and had a general air of frailty about him, as well as a careworn face. He put people into the mind of a sick person – perhaps an asthmatic or somebody suffering from some other kind of debilitating condition. His hair was both greying and thinning rapidly, barely concealing his pate in some places. If one were to tell somebody that Boss was in his mid-thirties they would be laughed out of the room. Stress, and perhaps some kind of trauma had aged him prematurely, making him appear decades over his real age.

In at least one area, the person walking towards Boss was a stark contrast to the scrawny, worn man. Where Boss was skinny to the point of seeming almost emaciated, the other enjoyed a large girth, with quite a considerable paunch. He had a jocular air about him and a booming voice – certainly this man had a huge personality. Although he was overweight, he didn't seem overly unhealthy, coming across as one of those people who being fat just suited, one definitely couldn't imagine him as being average sized. Aside from his prodigious belly, he was also rather large in general terms, topping the 6ft mark by some inches. He was, much like Boss, balding, but his face was far from careworn, indeed the only lines etched into his face were those caused by laughter and smiling. Seeing him, most would think that such a man was obviously one who believed in living life to the fullest.

"Sure thing Chief, Zeek and Alexis are getting the kids as we speak,"

Speaking now, Boss sounded less like somebody trying to maintain their authority, and more tired. Just like the man himself, his voice sounded worn out and at least somewhat defeated. His manner was also different, obviously this time around he wasn't speaking to unruly soldiers, but a friend – or at least somebody more than a casual acquaintance. Chief sat down opposite him in a chair which seemed rather too small for him, especially as the action was accompanied by no small amount of uneasy creaking from the furniture. Chief let out a relieved sigh as his weight was taken off his feet – bearing the burden of carrying the large man around must have been hell on his lower limbs. He reached into his waistcoat after a moment and produced a hip flask, which he proffered to Boss, who mutely shook his head. Chief shrugged as if to say 'suit yourself' before taking a long draught. Wiping his mouth off with a satisfied sigh he started to talk again.

"I wouldn't worry about getting drunk Boss, it's barely alcoholic. But... Alexis and Zeek - you only sent the pair of them?"

Chief sounded a little sceptical, and it wasn't really hard to see why. Sending only two soldiers on a mission which was important enough to get Boss in such a state directing it seemed at best overconfident, and at worst simply foolhardy. On the other hand, given Boss seemed a total wreck, unless the intent was to _deliberately _sabotage the attempt, then there must have been some kind of logic in putting him in charge of the whole operation. Either that or whoever Boss' superior was he was simply incompetent and had no idea what he was doing. There was always that.

"Chief, you've seen each of the pair of them get the business done. Do you seriously believe it will take more than the two of them to take out a supervisor and gas a bus full of unsuspecting teenage kids? They might not like or respect me, but I know I can rely on them to complete the mission with a minimum of fuss,"

Somehow, Boss suddenly seemed less tired and world-weary, more like a man in charge and less like a meek man being bullied by his subordinates. Perhaps the man had his merits after all, although he clearly had some deficiencies, as well as an issue with his confidence. Far from perfect then, but not perhaps as useless as he originally came across to be. Chief, in the meantime, removed a long cigar from his breast pocket and looked at it ruefully for a long moment, before letting out a sigh and replacing it.

"Got to watch what vices I'm indulging in these days. Shame I was a bit hot and bothered after climbing all of those stairs really, because I could really do with a smoke. But back to the matter at hand… I suppose you're right, but I would have preferred if you'd sent one of the others along. Silver or Kade, Aaron maybe,"

Boss raised an eyebrow speculatively at Chief's suggestions, his demeanour completely altered now that he had his mind focused on a particular possibility rather than on the success of the mission. In a way, his nervousness only came into play because he was waiting for the results of something that he no longer had any way of influencing. In massive contrast to earlier on, Boss now looked sharp and aware.

"Silver would be a liability. She's… well she's certainly _something _alright. Way too unpredictable to bring along. You never know when she's going to flip out, and with such a small team, that's going to cost us. Kade is a lunatic, and he'd probably wind up losing it and getting too trigger happy, which would result in unnecessary bloodshed, remember after all we can only afford to lose a couple of students, otherwise we'll be under that fastidious quota. And Aaron? You know him better than anybody Chief – he's your assistant. Intelligent and fit he may be, and heck, he's a deadeye on the firing range, but he's squeamish, inexperienced, and far too cowardly to be of much use. I would have sent Drew or Dex but we needed both of them to take care of the transport, and beyond that the others would have just got in Zeek and Alexis' way,"

Chief lurched awkwardly to his feet and laid both of his hands on the desk, looking Boss dead in the eyes, a serious look at odds with his usual expression. He made to turn away and indeed took a few steps towards the door, before looking around again and calling to Boss over his shoulder.

"So you say… I hope you're right Boss,"

The big man made his way from the room, shutting the door behind him and leaving Boss sitting there in silence with his reservations and anxiety. Chief's words came to him again, and a single thought went through his head in mute response to them.

_Me too Chief. Me too._


	2. Irony Sucks

_**The bus. 9:36 AM**_

School trips. They were always fun weren't they? Especially when you were leaving for another country. The excitement, the joy. Yeah right. Geoff Deeps sat moodily at one window of the bus, towards the front as usual, with his two best friends both nearby. Peter Scheimer looked asleep at this point, his head lolling back, his broad chest slowly rising and falling. Across the way Deacon 'Deak' Perez was sprawled all over the pair of seats. It didn't really matter; the bus was so big that almost every student could have had a pair of seats to themselves. It was weird, having so much space in a bus; all three boys were used to being in one of the cramped school minibuses. This was a far cry from one of those.

If it hadn't been absolutely compulsory (and even then, Geoff would have liked to bet he could have managed to get out of it) and his two friends hadn't pretty much coerced him into coming along until he caved – almost entirely to get them shut up, Geoff wouldn't have been on this trip in a million years. Camping? Please. At least it was better than the alternatives, but Geoff still firmly believed it would have been possible to avoid going away entirely. He wasn't a particularly social person, and this was going to stretch his patience to the breaking point. He couldn't handle huge amounts of contact with his peers, mostly because there were only a few who he was able to talk to without getting a sudden urge to smack upside of the head for being either a moron or annoying.

Geoff knew that he himself was hardly perfect. He wasn't overly athletic and had far too much cynicism to be easy to get on with. He also delighted in causing trouble – not in a bullying others and deliberate disruption type of way, rather pulling anonymous pranks and retreating to survey the hilarity that ensued when they succeeded. Not many people found it easy to like Geoff, as he was rather standoffish and had a tendency to rebuke those who approached him. Add to that a penchant for making cutting remarks at the expense of others and you had somebody who not only enjoyed few firm friendships but liked it better that way too.

"Why the long face Geoff?" a friendly voice called out from a couple of seats in front of him, startling Geoff and making him look up, realising in the process he _did _have a rather dark look on his face. Leaning out to look down the aisle (to check on the rest of the class undoubtedly) was one of the class's supervisors, Mr. Braham. "Come on, cheer up. I know you didn't really want to come with us, but look at it like an adventure. How many times are you going to get to come way out into the countryside in your life?"

_None after this, if I can help it. _Geoff answered silently, but didn't vocalise. He liked Mr. Braham, he was a lot younger than most teachers, in some cases less than five years the senior of his students. Geoff knew he was friends with a fair few of his classmates outside of high school too. He had a manner that made you try and improve – nobody liked letting him down. He wouldn't yell, he would just get incredibly disappointed, and that was even worse. Although Geoff barely ever saw Mr. Braham when he wasn't in class, he counted him as a friend. Way back when Mr. Braham had first become their class's teacher, Geoff had been delighted to discover that he actually understood his sense of humour (something which got him in no end of trouble in other subjects). From there, they had established a sort of rapport, although Geoff paid careful mind to avoiding going too far.

"I love the countryside Mr. Bram," Geoff replied, using the nickname that almost everybody in the class did for their teacher. "As long as it stays outside, behind a window, where it belongs," Mr. Braham chuckled, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and regarding Geoff over the top of them with a smile on his face.

"I suppose we'll just have to find a window to install in your tent then," Mr. Braham told Geoff before returning to his seat to talk to the other supervisor who had accompanied the group. Mr. Hanks (although few people ever used his honorific outside of his earshot). Hanks was a stickler for both rules and formalities, and that most certainly didn't endear him to the students under his tutelage. He was rather old, especially when set alongside the youthful Mr. Braham. It was often joked that the reason he had such a chip on his shoulder about rules was that he missed the days when he was still allowed to hit children when they acted up. Instead he compensated by hitting the kids with every obscure and irritating rule he could, just to get the satisfaction of doling out reprimands and punishments. Geoff and Hanks often butted heads, and the student had a firm suspicion that Hanks had a personal grudge against him. Geoff retaliated to the ridiculously pedantic and fastidious rules he was supposedly violating by declaring war, setting up and pulling off all sorts of pranks on the teacher. Hanks knew exactly who his tormentor was, but couldn't punish him without justification, so he invented some, and so the cycle continued. Fortunately Geoff was able to avoid the majority of Hanks' rules whilst on the trip, so their struggle had been more or less put on hold.

Geoff shifted in his seat and looked over at Peter Scheimer, sitting across from him, just behind Deak Perez. Geoff could tell for certain now that his friend had fallen asleep, and he watched him breathing heavily for a few moments. His clothes, lap and immediate vicinity were all covered in crumbs from some snack that he had demolished in the last few hours since embarking on the coach. Geoff smiled as he thought on his friend's prodigious appetite, which really beggared belief until it was seen. Really, the amount of food Peter could put away was simply astonishing, even given the size of the somewhat overweight boy's stomach. Still, everybody had their vices, and for Peter it was eating.

It was an odd friendship the pair enjoyed (along with Deak). If you were ever to ask Peter why he liked Geoff so much he would never be able to tell you precisely why, especially since he was often the butt of Geoff's barbed comments. Peter had thick skin though, and a huge capacity for being able to simply forget and forgive, which Geoff had had cause to be thankful time and time again during the time they'd known one another. All too many times Geoff would talk without thinking first, and he was grateful for Peter's ability to be able to shrug off almost any insult.

Large stomach? Maybe, but he had a heart to match.

Somebody else with a big heart was Geoff's other best friend, Deak Perez. He wasn't perhaps the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he took everything with good humour and was definitely the sort of guy you'd want watching your back. Geoff looked at the pair of them, Peter sleeping and Deak staring out of the window at the countryside going past them, and smiled to himself, settling back down in his seat. Perhaps... perhaps this wouldn't turn out so bad after all.

* * *

"You know, Peter looks kinda cute when he's asleep," Sarah Beau turned to her friend Chantal Villiers and looked at her incredulously. Chantal was looking down the bus to where Peter's slumbering form could be made out, half slumped in the aisle due to the awkward position in which he'd fallen asleep. Both girls were part of the popular crowd, Chantal a cheerleader, but avoided being bitchy or malicious simply because they weren't like that. The class had its share of conflicts and assholes, but the majority of the students were just plain nice people.

"I don't understand you. C'mon you rejected him just the other day, what's changed your mind now?"

"What's this?" Callie Keller, the third member of the trio of close-knit girls, leaned in to listen to what was being said. Callie was almost inarguably the best-looking girl out of the entire class, and she held a place on the cheerleading team too. Simultaneously she was probably the _nicest _person to go along with it, also willing to listen to somebody's problems, help them out or break up a fight. Chantal giggled, waving a hand dismissively in some kind of casual denial.

"Scheimer asked me out the other day, and I kinda turned him down. But you know, just because I've noticed that he's actually quite a nice guy doesn't mean I want to go out on a date with him. Peter isn't my type," _Nobody _was Chantal's type apparently, since she had rejected (some gently, some less so) every single person who had ever approached her to ask for a date. Heck, she'd never even acted _slightly _interested in dating. It was odd, because Chantal was pretty enough (even if she only boasted a slightly above average figure) to attract plenty of attention, and you would think out of all the guys that came on to her, one of them must have been Mr. Right, or at least good enough for her. Most weren't sure whether dating just didn't interest her or if she just had incredibly high (and unrealistic) standards.

"Yeah but you don't really notice that he's not actually that bad because he's always going around with that dreamboat Deacon Perez and that weird kid Geoff Deeps," Callie pondered this for a moment, then shook her head at Sarah's confident statement. Most of the class saw Geoff as one the more odd students, up there with Henry Kallen in terms of being more than a little peculiar. Then again where Geoff was sarcastic and slightly brooding, Henry was a little bonkers, being a total conspiracy nut, and were he Japanese, he would definitely be referred to as an otaku. Callie couldn't see him right now, but presumably he was up to his usual strange antics. (actually, he was lying on the floor underneath some unoccupied seats, surfing the internet on his laptop). Soon thereafter, Callie voiced her opinion.

"Geoff isn't weird, he's just quiet, shy I think. You should see him when he's just with his friends, apparently he's real nice," Sarah scoffed, giving Chantal a meaningful look which evinced a snigger from the other.

"Who told you that? Deacon?" Callie reddened and Chantal winked at her. "Yeah we both know, but I gotta say you've done a great job of keeping it secret. Wow, you're going out with the most handsome guy in the year… makes you wonder what he sees in you," all three girls dissolved into helpless laughter.

* * *

Closer to the centre of the bus, there was an accumulation of girls – mostly gathered around class president Rebecca Dase. She was definitely part of the popular crowd of the class, with plenty of friends to have a good time with, although she took work a little too seriously for her own good at times. Currently, Rebecca was taking part in a somewhat heated discussion with her rival slash best friend Kate Sael, whom she clashed heads with on numerous occasions, though considering they both were avid debaters and had rather different views on many issues, this was hardly a surprise. One of the few boys there was student council member Rory Marks, who was watching proceedings with a small smile on his face. Rory was pretty shy, but he was a sweet, considerate kid and acted as a good buffer between Rebbeca and Kate if things got a little too heated.

"My point is-"

"If you'd just let me finish-"

They both spoke simultaneously, then paused for a moment, lockings eyes with each other, before bursting out with laughter, Rebecca and Kate both breaking out in giggling. Although it was true that each of them were very passionate on certain issues, they never took things too far – it was more of an intellectual wrestling match, trying to throw the other on their back and force them to concede defeat. They were an oddly matched pair for sure, at least in personalities, with Rebecca tending to take a more intellectual, analytical viewpoint, whereas Kate was fiery and stubborn, relying on a clear sense of what was right and wrong to carry her through discussions, although sometimes, they almost seemed to switch around. Both were pretty enough, but Kate undeniably had the looks that killed, ranking right up there alongside Callie Keller and Mari Laret as far as appearances went . Still, her general uncompromising attitude tended to alienate her a little, and as well as a somewhat superior manner, this put paid to the majority of her chances for actually securing a date.

"Well, as I was saying..." Rebecca began, quickly being cut off before the debate once again began in earnest.

* * *

"I beat the living hell out of Sammar; I took on Walle and won one time. You name 'em, I've battered 'em. Come on Cameron admit it, I'm the toughest guy in our entire year," as per usual Brian De Viet was being loud, brash and arrogant. His little 'clique' occupied all seven seats of the back row. Brian himself was lying across three of them. A smile played across his friend Cameron Tallem's face. People always asked Cameron why he had such an obnoxious guy for his best friend, and although Cameron never truly answered, everybody knew that there had to be something. It was odd really, because the pair couldn't be much more different. Cameron was a pretty nice guy, even if he did have his asshole moments, but Brian was simply insufferable, next-to impossible to get along with. The black football player was probably Brian's only real friend in their class – all of the others were either toadies or only affiliated with him for their own benefit.

"You never battered me," Elliot Naig muttered beside him. Elliot was huge, he stood at least five inches taller than the next biggest guy in the class, and this gave Brian cause to laugh nervously. Elliot, whilst not particularly friendly, rarely if ever joined in with the tormenting of his fellows, mostly in Brian's group as some much needed muscle for those inevitable occasions when they clashed with their rivals. Brian De Viet and Andrew Kay were the focal points of the conflict, both gunning for exactly the same position on the team, and neither wanting to be second choice. (well, it was more a case of Kay being better and Brian not being able to admit it) which, over time, had drawn in more and more of the football players in, to the point where very few remained neutral. Thankfully only a few people from each group were on the trip, so the type of fights which usually accompanied occasions where Brian and Kay were in close proximity would be largely averted. Quite why Elliot stuck with Brian was most certainly up for discussion, especially since he seemed the type to take the stance of Walle (staying out of the conflict) on the divide in the football team. However, for better or worse, Elliot was one of Brian's guys, and the clique looked a whole lot tougher for it.

"Well _obviously _I wasn't talking about my friends. Why would I want to put them through the humiliation of getting beat up by me?" Elliot snorted derisively and turned away dismissively, closing his eyes and taking on the semblance of somebody trying to go to sleep. Kieran McKay and his girlfriend Victoria 'Vicky' Hans both found cause to snigger. Kieran was something of a lackey with a tongue which was altogether too quick for his own good, and although he held down a position on the football team comfortably, wasn't really somebody you'd want at your side in a scrap. He'd latched onto Brian as a hanger-on, but he was swift to side against him (at least amongst members of his own gang) if a laugh was to be made from it. This didn't endear him to Brian particularly, but the footballer suffered his presence to supplement the numbers of his group.

Vicky wasn't much different, asides from the footballing aspect, though she was mostly in Brian's clique as an extension of having Kieran there. She was overly snide at most times, and definitely gelled well with her boyfriend – they had similar minds, that was for sure.

"Shut the fuck up!" Brian snapped. He was naturally bad tempered, and he hated being wound up, especially by his own 'friends' -he liked to feel in control of a situation, and people teasing him stood as a big blow to his ego. Kieran smiled at him sweetly and leant back into his chair. It was ironic that most of those that hung around with Brian didn't actually like him. In all fairness, most of those on Brian's 'side' were there because they liked his friend Cameron, either that or preferred him to Kay. De Viet was lucky indeed in his few friends.

* * *

The sharp shout carried closer to the front of the bus, to a pocket of silence where an entire small area of the bus was inhabited by a single person. Sebastian Walle was not a guy to be messed with, a fact which was common knowledge to everybody in the year. He wouldn't put on an air of bravado, he wouldn't make threats or bandy words with you, he would just beat you up. If you pissed him off. But the guy was a law unto himself – sometimes he would stick up for other people and others simply watch the harassment. Walle was one of the bigger guys in the class, and featured in both the football and wrestling teams for the school. In fact, he was one of the few who didn't fall into the distinct division within the team (although the numbers of both groups actually on the trip were rather low) and he planned on keeping it that way. He'd been approached numerous times by various members of each group and every time, he'd made it clear in no uncertain terms that he didn't give a _damn _about who had the captaincy as long as he got to participate. Walle knew that people were wary around him and didn't much care, he preferred to be able to do things on his own terms, rather than those set by others. As one might imagine, this dropped him in a lot of trouble at school too. Walle let the sounds wash over him and sat impassively. Would this be a good trip? Maybe, it depended whether or not anybody decided to challenge him again.

* * *

Further forward from Sarah Beau and the rest of her group, one entire row of six was occupied by a group of girls, and one boy who was decidedly unwelcome but didn't seem to want to take the hint. Almost all of the girls had a rather bad reputation amongst the rest of the students on the trip, each of them knew it, and none of them cared. So what if they were the clichéd 'bad girls'? The fact of the matter was that they were in control of the running of their grade. If anybody took exception they'd soon be put right...

Alaina Carr was the undisputed leader of their group, with a mean streak a mile wide and a punch like a heavyweight boxer. She watched two of the other members of her gang attempting to remove the interloper, but meeting without success. Alaina wondered who long it would be before they asked her to sort things out. Cathie Willis and Sophie O'Brien were the next in the pecking order, each of them always attempting to secure their position as the head lieutenant, so to speak. Neither of them realised that Alaina preferred it when they were always competing with each other, it got better results then co-operation a great deal of the time. And if teamwork was necessary, then Alaina could force them to work together; nobody messed with her.

Christie Lauren was the next of the gang. Well, in so much as she didn't seem to mind being classed as 'in the gang'. Sure she hung around with Alaina and the others, but Christie never seemed to want to participate in any of their schemes or plans to derail the others. Alaina wasn't scared of her per se, more wary. After all who wouldn't exercise caution around somebody who was an expert in Tae kwon-do? Ever since Christie had taken out Brian De Viet in about five seconds everybody had begun to give her a wide berth; and that was the way she liked it. Jackie McDonn, the final member of Alaina's group, was simply a hanger on, who had joined once she saw they were the winning horse. For Alaina, Jackie was just about useful enough not to drive away. Still, there were several viable replacements...

* * *

Felix Mason ignored the exhortations of the two girls seated next to him and simply adjusted his headphones, continuing to listen to his music. Felix couldn't care less about the cliques and social groups of their year, which hadn't exactly endeared him to those such as Brian's crew and Alaina's gang, who believed there _had _to be groups. Expressing his particular views (with some choice words) to one such group (the 'tough guys') had made Felix the beneficiary of a broken arm, which even now was still stuck in a sling. Ever since they had occupied the seats next to him the 'AC Gang' had been attempting to dislodge him. Felix hadn't given up to begin with, so he now consigned himself to the long haul; he either had to concede straight away or not at all. Settling down, Felix blocked out the snide voices and insults and concentrated on the beat.

Seated in a hunched position, so as to expose as little of his large frame as possible to any projectiles that might be thrown at him, Tom Sammar clenched his teeth to hold back the tears. Twice already Brian De Viet and other members of his group had managed to hit him with their attacks: the first of them a hard apple, and the second an extremely runny banana. Tom was known as the whipping boy of pretty much the entire grade: big but not too bright, easy to anger, Tom was easy meat for the so-called bullies of the year. Tom hunkered down further as something unidentifiable splattered onto the seat in front of him. This trip was going to be a living hell. He contemplated killing himself now and getting the torment over with… He was surprised to feel a hand land on his shoulder, and he jumped despite himself. Tom sighed inwardly and readied himself for more torment – just up close and personal this time. He looked around, the hand belonged to the diminutive Dan Shaw, who was leaning from across the aisle. Dan was kinda pudgy, but for all of his weight issues, managed to hold down a place on the baseball team well enough. He was almost a fish out of water on the trip; pretty much none of his sporting counterparts had come along on the camping outing with him. Tom's surprise grew when he saw Dan smiling friendly. True, Dan didn't rank up amongst his usual bullies, but Tom had come to assume that more or less everyone was just waiting for a chance to pick on him. Furthermore, Tom and Dan didn't know each other – what other reason would there be for the contact?

"Look, don't mind De Viet and his cronies, they're just a bunch of assholes. They don't know jack about how things work, and from where I'm standing, you're a better man than any of them will ever be," Tom blinked, unsure of what to say. He barely remembered the last time somebody had taken the time to be nice to him. "Now come on – sit by me, we'll play cards or something. Don't worry if you don't know any games; I'll show you how to play," still not quite believing what had happened, Tom got up briefly to go and sit by Dan. The smaller boy beamed and began shuffling a deck of cards, launching into an explanation of a game. Tom allowed himself a weak half smile. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be so bad.

* * *

From the centre of the bus James Andrews was conducting some boisterous singing, along with his best friend Chris Zuce. It was pretty simple stuff, but when you have been confined to a bus for two hours, with another six still to come, you welcomed any distraction that you could get. Eventually the singing petered out and the pair of them sat back in their seats, smiles on their faces. Chris was the male class representative, just about as clever as you could get, and extremely popular. In many ways, he was a veritable Mr. Perfect – he was good at sports, his grades were beyond belief, and he was a nice guy to boot, barely a person in the class would have a bad thing to say about Chris. James (and it had to be James, he hated anybody shortening it) was very much the same as far popularity went, though he was a lot less intense when it came to studying and his schoolwork. Smiling to himself, the class representative turned to his friend and leaned in close, in order to be heard over the chatter resounding throughout the bus.

"You know James; I think we might be in for the time of our lives,"

There was an abrupt bang, and the bus suddenly skewed wildly, fish-tailing as the driver wrestled with the wheel, attempting to get the vehicle under control. There was a horrible screeching sound, and smoke began rising from the wheels of the bus, due to a hard application of the breaks. In the seating area of the bus, students were thrown all over the place - Brian De Viet was hurled clean off the backseat and landed with a crash and a curse, some halfway down the aisle. Henry Kallen was dislodged from his place underneath the seat, and slid forwards rapidly (much to the surprise of those seated in the areas he passed through). He emerged from the seating with a cry and swept the legs of Hanks, who had stood up to get a better view of what was going on, out from underneath him. The rotund disciplinarian fell flat on his generous behind with a yelp, accompanied by quite the thud. Clinging to his seat by the armrest, Geoff Deeps found the time for a private chuckle at the expense of his enemy.

Finally, the bus ground to a painstaking halt, the screech of tortured metal scraping along hard ground letting up at long last. There was a brief moment of stunned silence, and then hysterical babbling broke out amongst the students. Mr. Braham located his glasses from where they had been dislodged following the strange incident, and putting them on, stood up to calm down the class. Meanwhile, the driver hopped out of the bus to find out just what had happened.

"_All according to plan. The stingers worked perfectly,"_

"_Then let's get in there and finish this as quickly as possible, we have a schedule to keep to. A tight schedule,"_

"_I know what I'm doing Zeek, you don't need to babysit me,"_

"_Heh, sorry, habit,"_

The driver knelt down alongside the front wheel of the bus. The tyre was a complete mess. It was as if he'd run over something with a ridiculous number of spikes on it. However, by the way he'd lost all traction, he suspected that it wasn't only this wheel which had fallen victim. What, then, had he hit? It didn't make any sense... He stood, moving towards the rear of the vehicle to check if the same fate had befallen the back two tyres as well. The driver made it about halfway there before he heard an odd sound which he could describe only as 'thwack'. Suddenly, all energy left him, and he stumbled against the side of the bus, sliding into a sitting up position. Faltering, his hand went to his neck, where he felt a strange wetness. His fingers came away bloody. Still not knowing exactly what happened, the driver fell sideways, his skull hitting the road with a crack.

"_What kind of a shot was that? You hit him in the throat!"_

"_Oh shut up, he's dead isn't he? Now get moving!"_

"_Tch, sloppy. Alright, here goes, I'll take the front!"_

A pair of fist-sized objects smashed through the windows of the bus, landing at the back and approximate centre of the vehicle respectively. Both immediately began pumping out billowing clouds of thick, noxious gas, restricting vision to the point where those inside could barely see their hands in front of their faces. Not that they had much opportunity to try and peer through the fog – most of the bus was incapacitated in a matter of moments from the potent knockout gas.

"_What the hell Alexis? You tell me off for MY shooting when you can't even put a canister through a window?"_

"_The difference being that __**I **__am not supposed to be an expert with a grenade launcher!"_

"_Alright! Point taken! But we'll argue it __**after **__this has been dealt with!"_

One of the furthest forward seated on the bus, Deak Perez was out of the immediate range of the gas, and quickly dived out of his seat to avoid the rapidly-expanding cloud. He took a nervous glance back and soon saw that the entirety of the vehicle (barring the driver's compartment) was engulfed in the knockout gas. It had fallen almost deathly silent. Hanks barged past the slightly Henry Kallen, knocking him flying to be the first to the exit of the bus. Deak took a hesitant step forward, then froze on the spot when he saw two figures, clad in black and wielding compact MP5's approaching the bus from the edges of the road.

"Excellent!" Hanks boomed. "You can help me – we've been attacked by-" Deak saw one of the sub-machine guns come up and his heart seemed to stop. Henry was still standing, dazed, in the doorway of the bus, directly behind Hanks, who was having a gun pointed straight at his- Deak lunged forwards, snagging Henry by the collar of his shirt and heaving him backwards, the kid letting out a surprised yelp as a burst of fully-automatic fire was unleashed. Hanks was hit clean in the head and tumbled out of the bus, landing face first on the road. The remaining bullets raked the driver's compartment, smashing the forward most windows and riddling the far side of that part of the bus with holes, just where Henry had been standing seconds before.

"_Boom, headshot. Satisfied now?"_

"_Not until we've dealt with that group at the front!"_

"_Jeez, keep your panties on- actually, on second thoughts, don'OW!"_

"_Canister! Launch it! Now!"_

Grumbling under his breath and rubbing his ear ruefully, Zeek raised his compact grenade launcher and fired off a round through the space where the bus' front window had been. In moments, the remainder of the vehicle disappeared underneath a veil of gas. The last few shrouded figures collapsed. Although you couldn't see it underneath his gasmask Zeek smiled.

"_Night, night kids, don't let the bedbugs bite," _Alexis chuckled, hearing her partner, all of her anxiety dissipated now that the mission had been taken care of, or at least, their part in it. Alexis was an excellent soldier, but the nerves got to her almost every time, getting worse as her tasks continued. Still, she couldn't be blamed for feeling a little apprehensive: it had been made clear in no uncertain terms what would happen if they screwed up.

"_They're going to have a hell of a lot more to worry about then bedbugs Zeek,"_ Alexis keyed her long range radio. _"We've got them out for the count, how 'bout bringing that chopper in Dex?" _


	3. Education'

Henry Kallen felt like somebody had driven a railroad spike through the back of his skull, then proceeded to curbstomp him repeatedly. Needless to say, it wasn't a particular nice feeling to endure. His memories were confused and jumbled, and what with the pain in his head, Henry could barely concentrate, but he tried anyway. The bus... it had been forced to stop by... something or other. Punctured tyre? That sounded about right. Then, as the driver had gone out to check what was wrong, what had happened next? Henry couldn't really recall, he'd been dazed at the time due to his sudden ejection from his hideaway beneath the seats. Henry did remember the smothering clouds of gas though, and he shuddered at the memory of the engulfing fog. After that, all he could recall was a strangled feeling as somebody tugged on his collar, and another jolt of pain as his head smacked into the floor. Henry had heard another sound after that, but he had been too incoherent to take note of exactly what the noise was. Some kind of repeated rattling, but that was about as far as he could identify it.

But now... where was he? Henry was sitting down, but the hard plastic chair disinclined him to believe it was the bus. Opening his eyes brought on a fresh wave of pain, and for a few moments, his vision was dark. Henry was tempted to jam shut his eyelids once again, but how was he to find out where he was if not by looking? After a second or two, Henry's eyes unclouded a little and he could begin to make out some details. He was in an expansive room, more like a hanger than anything else, the sheer size giving the air a chill. More importantly, he realised, he was not alone. All around him were seated his classmates, most of them looking pretty out of it. In fact, so far as Henry could see, almost everybody who had been on the bus was there. Conspicuous in their absences were their supervisors: Hanks and Mr. Braham. What the bloody hell had happened?

"Rise and shine my brave little warriors!" the voice was distinctively accented – sounding thoroughly British, and more than a little sarcastic at that. More importantly, it was one that Henry had absolutely never heard before in his life. He didn't have time to dwell on it though, several lights came on with a numbers of _whumps_, almost blinding with their glare. What with the loud voice and the bright lights, it was hardly a surprise when other members of the class began to stir from their slumber. Squinting heavily, his eyes still not used to the harsh light, Henry craned his neck to try and determine where the voice had come from. Although his view was partially obscured by taller students seated in front of him (Henry was situated in around the middle of the cluster of chairs), he could make out some kind of podium at the front of the room. Three men were standing on it. Two were dressed in olive drab fatigues, complete with body armour that was a darker shade of the same colour. One was carrying a familiar looking weapon (Henry wasn't a gun nut or anything, but he played a lot of video games). It looked to be an M4 carbine. The man himself was wearing reflective silver sunglasses and appeared to be chewing on a toothpick. The other guy in uniform was gripping a pistol tightly, one finger gently stroking the trigger. His brown hair was buzzed short and his face was set in a scowl. Henry felt uneasy just looking at him. The third man had no weapon at all and wasn't dressed in any kind of military gear. He stood slightly to one side of the two armed men, a sly smile playing across his face. He was wearing a tan beret, set at a jaunty angle, but otherwise his garb was relatively unremarkable. Henry strained to make out more details, but as more students woke and the room grew louder, he began finding it hard to concentrate, the noise making his headache even worse, if that was possible. Henry closed his eyes, pressing his palms to his forehead as a confused babble started up.

"The hell!?"

"What's going on!?"

"Where's Mr. Bram?"

"What gives?"

"Fuck… my head,"

"I'm scared!"

"Where are we?"

"W-what happened?"

"What the _fuck _is this!?"

"Calm down dammit!"

"Hysteria won't help matters!"

Despite his headache, Henry couldn't help but smile. Even in as confusing (and plain bizarre) situation as this, Chris Zuce could be relied on to keep his head – and James Andrews to back up his best friend. In some ways, the perfect co-operation of the class representative and his deputy was reassuring. It created a calm that one person would not have succeeded in making. However, in this instance, although some of the chatter decreased, the majority persisted at full volume. The beret-wearer rolled his eyes theatrically, cleared his throat and started speaking again. His voice was surprisingly loud, easily carrying above and cutting through the babble. Henry wondered if he had some kind of microphone concealed in his clothing or just had a damn loud voice.

"I'm sure you're all feeling rather confused right now. Maybe you're thinking that you really shouldn't have smoked that joint on the sly, or that this is some kind of wild dream," the talking didn't let up any, and Tan-Beret looked mildly annoyed._ "_Regretfully, that is not the case," he frowned as nobody showed any signs of paying attention to him. "Show some manners if you please! I would rather not have to make an example, but if you don't start to listen I'm afraid there will be an incident!" Tan-Beret sighed heavily and almost reluctantly gestured to Buzz-Cut, then at the students. Buzz-Cut saw the signal, grinned, then stopped toying with his gun, raised it and fired off a shot. Buzz-Cut pulled the trigger a second time, but Silver-Shades yanked on his comrade's arm, causing the bullet to smack into the floor. Buzz-Cut glowered, but holstered his gun nonetheless. The room had gone deathly quiet.

Henry could do nothing more than sit and tremble. He was covered in blood, his face spattered, and his shirt drenched. He hadn't been wounded, rather the person seated directly in front of him had taken the bullet. Henry quivered in shock, the kid in front was Dan Shaw, and he had been shot in the head. He had tipped backwards from his chair and almost into Henry's lap. His eyes seemed almost crossed, as if trying to look at the bullet that killed him. Henry stared into those blank eyes, saw the ugly entry wound and wondered how he had avoided being hit himself. The bullet must have gone straight through Dan's... Henry leaned over and dry-retched.

"Now that you have finally _deigned _to grant me your full and undivided attention... we can begin," Tan-Beret produced a device which looked something like a remote control, gave it a cursory look over, then pointed it towards something hanging from the roof. From what Henry could see (he was now looking anywhere but at Dan), it was a projector of some kind. However, whatever gadget Tan-Beret was holding, it evidently wasn't working. He frowned, aimed a little more carefully, pressed a button. Nothing happened. "Oh for heaven's sake!" he cried. Beside him, Buzz-Cut drew his sidearm, aiming it at the projector. Tan-Beret snapped at him irritably. "Put it away Kade. Contrary to your own opinion, shooting things generally does _not _make them work better!" the projector blinked on at long last, beaming the image onto the wall behind the podium. From what details Henry could make out, it was a map of an island, overlayed with a grid. Tan-Beret casually tossed the remote over his shoulder then rubbed his hands together.

"My name is Jeremy Huxley. These charming gentlemen and myself; we represent a group with... select interests we shall say. Now before we start throwing the big bad 'terrorist' word around I'd like to clarify that we're not doing this for religious, political or personal reasons. I have nothing against you, but suffice to say, a considerable sum of money is plenty enough motivation for me to do more or less anything." Huxley held up one hand as a murmur of outrage set in. "Now, now, quiet down. Otherwise... well, I'll be forced to give your skulls a little ventilation," the sound died away as quickly as it had started up. Huxley smiled and Henry shuddered, finding it reminiscent of a shark. "Thank you for your attention," The Brit said it as if he were being shown genuine courtesy rather than holding attention through threat.

"I don't know exactly how much you kids know about the Republic of Greater East Asia. Beyond of course 'enemies of America and democracy' and all that bollocks. Those Japs have had a few good ideas over the years though. One of them a choice piece called The Program," there were a number of muted gasps and cries of alarm. Huxley looked smug and folded his arms. Henry's jaw dropped. The Program... that was something he'd heard of on the net. Surely it couldn't be happening to _them_? Remembering one detail, Henry's hands immediately flew to his neck. They encountered metal.

_...Oh no. This is a collar. It's true, this isn't a sick joke. This is the Program._

"For those of you not in the know; the premise of this... we'll call it 'game' is very simple," Huxley continued. "In fact, it's so simple I think that a bunch of stupid yanks like yourselves can figure it out," Silver-Shades, who was evidently an American, glowered at Huxley, the latter appearing oblivious to his henchman's displeasure. "You kids are going to go out on that island," Huxley pointed to the map. "And there you will kill each other until only one is left." Henry was too busy trying not to freak out to notice either the inflection in Huxley's voice or the sly grin his lips curled into after the statement.

_It can't be real, this just can't be real. I'll just wake up and... oh god that's blood running down my face._

"How the hell do you think you're gonna make us!?" Seb Walle surged to his feet, both fists clenched and shooting Huxley a death glare. Huxley didn't seem to know whether to be amused or ticked off. Henry shrank into his seat and more or less cowered. Walle was only a couple of seats from Henry, and the student didn't want any backlash against the class hardman to affect him. It had been a miracle that Henry hadn't been hurt when Dan Shaw had been shot. He doubted he would be so lucky again.

"Now that kid has balls," the Brit muttered to himself. "Muscular dude, pretty tall... you'd be Naig? No, not quite _that _big. Walle. Is that right?" Walle nodded reluctantly, no doubt wandering exactly how Huxley knew his name, and Naig's at that. Clearly he was privy to some inside information.

"You still haven't answered my damn question,"

"There's balls and then there's idiocy," Huxley pulled another remote out of his pocket and waved it in the air. "You've noticed the collar around your neck, I'm sure?" from the few students who hadn't noticed their new accessory, there were dismayed outbursts. Huxley pointed the remote at Walle, pressed a button, and a red light began to flash on Walle's collar. At the same time, the device began to beep at a measured pace. Walle swallowed. Henry moved just about as far as he could away from Walle without being in the lap of the person next to him.

"Now sit the fuck down before I blow your fucking head off, all right!?" Walle sat, glowering, and Huxley fiddled with his remote. This time, however, he didn't just throw it away – he slipped it back into his pocket. Henry felt a jab in the small of his back and he swivelled around. Seated next to him, an irritated look on her face was Casey Dari. She was a little hard to figure out. Casey seemed to always hang just on the fringes of the popular crowd – never quite being a true part of the group. At the same time though, she wasn't a hanger-on or a sycophant. The disassociation from the main group seemed a conscious decision on her part. Henry didn't have much longer to speculate though, as Casey shot him a glare and gestured for him to move away. Now that he was sure that nobody in his vicinity was going to die in the immediate future, Henry shifted back into his place.

Huxley sighed, checking his watch. "Right, let's get moving, I've got a schedule to keep to. We're going to release you onto that island, then you're going to kill each other. Oh and guess what? We'll be monitoring your progress with an array of cameras and broadcasting your performance to the world. Since it will be live, I guess I'll tell you not to swear and all that bollocks.

"Okay. Before all of that fun stuff, each of you is going to be issued a daypack. Inside of this you'll find a map, a compass, a fair amount of rations and whatever personal effects we saw fit to put in there from your bags. More importantly, there will also be a randomly chosen weapon, which could be anything from an assault rifle to a toothbrush. For those lucky people who received guns, there will also be instructions so you don't wind up shooting yourselves in the foot or something.

"Every six hours I'm sure you'll be delighted to hear that I'll be giving you a sitrep. I'll tell you who has died, and maybe who knocked them off if I feel like it. As well as that, I'll be keeping you up to scratch on dangerzones. What the hell is a dangerzone I hear you ask? Well, hang around in one and you'll find yourself drastically shortened at the neck.

"Speaking of collars exploding, let me tell you all about it so I don't have to blow some dumb fuck's head off. You try screwing around with them, the collars blow. You try swimming off the island, the collars blow. Nobody dies within a 24 hour period, the collars blow. The game goes on longer than three days, the collars blow. If you so much as _look _as though you're going to try to pull some smart shit, I blow your fucking collar. Are you seeing the pattern?

"Now class, are there any questions?" Huxley put on a falsely cheerful voice then shot the students another vicious smile. He blinked in surprise when he saw an upraised hand. Henry shifted around in his seat to see who it was, and more importantly, who the hell was bold – or stupid - enough to take the sarcastic statement literally. Rebecca Dase. The class president.

"Uh... yeah, whatever, what do you want?"

"What happened to Mr. Braham?" Rebecca's voice trembled a little when she first spoke up, but she seemed to steady herself as she went on. Huxley smirked and held up a palm to stop the class president from continuing.

"He's fine," Rebecca looked at the Brit sceptically and he laughed. "Don't believe me? I don't blame you. Kade, get on the radio. Have Boss send somebody in with the bloke we took hostage," the sour-faced soldier beside Huxley muttered something into his chest mic. Around twenty seconds later, there was a clang of metal, and a heavy sliding door beside the podium opened. As if propelled by a shove, Mr. Braham stumbled inside. From the students, there was a collective intake of breath. Their teacher (and in some cases, friend) had clearly not had a good night. His face was badly bruised and there was dried blood on his chin from a split lip. He was cradling one arm and favouring his right leg slightly. Moments later, a gigantic man dressed exactly like Kade and Silver-Shades followed along after the supervisor. The giant directed Mr. Braham onto the podium through judicious use of a steel baton. As the teacher came to stand before his class, a flicker of dismay flashed across his face. It was replaced by deadly calm a second or so later.

"There you are," Huxley said, waving to emphasise his point. "Teacher dearest is alive. Now can we _please _get on with this?" there was silence. "Good. Take him back Baz,"

It happened as the giant was 'encouraging' Mr. Braham to move. The supervisor half-turned and raked Baz' shin was his instep. The soldier yelped in pain and surprise and as he was recovering, Mr. Braham took advantage. Henry's heart leapt to see his teacher retaliating against their captors. His sentiments were shared by much of the class, who immediately sprung from their chairs, whooping and cheering. Mr. Braham was taking no prisoners, and drove an elbow into the groin of the much taller Baz, causing the soldier to collapse entirely. The positioning of the other three men meant that they were all just getting in each other's way, with the unarmed Huxley in between Mr. Braham and the remaining two soldiers. Kade raised his pistol nonetheless, firing three times but missing with every shot.

"Stop firing you daft twat!" Huxley roared. "You'll fucking hit me!" Silver-Shades pushed past the Brit to level his M4 at Mr. Braham. However, he didn't have the chance to start firing – Mr. Braham was already lunging forwards. A kick slammed squarely into the soldier's face, breaking his sunglasses and hurling him backwards to land spread-eagled on the podium. The cheering from the students redoubled and Henry found himself bursting in anticipation for Mr. Braham to take down the man himself – Huxley. The teacher stepped forward, throwing a right hook which soared towards Huxley's jaw and-

-Was parried.

Huxley almost lazily knocked the punch aside, countering with a lightning quick three hit combination; jab, straight, roundhouse. Mr. Braham staggered backwards and Huxley advanced straight into a punch in the mouth. As the two men got to grips, Kade tried to manoeuvre himself around the melee to bring his gun to bear. However, the podium wasn't quite wide enough for him to slip past the combatants without getting into the fight himself, and Huxley's warning forestalled him from firing with his boss in the way. Mr. Braham swung again, carelessly, fatigue causing him to lose finesse. Huxley responded by catching hold of the supervisor's arm and violently twisting it.

Henry heard the snap from where he was standing, and all at once, nobody was cheering any longer. Mr. Braham howled in pain before being knocked senseless by a vicious blow to the head. Huxley let go of the teacher's broken arm, allowing him to slump to the floor. The Brit's mouth was bleeding, and he absently wiped the blood away with the back on his hand. Huxley walked over to where Baz was still clutching his crotch and gave him a kick in the side for good measure.

"Way to bollocks things up you giant wanker,"

Huxley turned to Kade. "We've wasted enough time. I'll knock them out and then we can get rolling – otherwise it'll be all our arses," the soldier responded with a curt nod, stepping back as Huxley produced his remote again and pressed a button.

There was a shrill beep at Henry's feet and he looked down; a device was affixed to the floor by his foot, exactly what it was he couldn't tell. He didn't have time to check, however, as a noxious cloud of gas suddenly erupted from it. Henry got a faceful of the gas and collapsed instantly, unconscious. By the time he woke up again, it would be far too late to worry about anything except his own life.


	4. Goddamn

**Silver's Helicopter. 4:38 AM**

The sound of the rotors was almost deafening for the pair of soldiers in the back of the helicopter. Admittedly they'd become used to it by now, and it was almost tolerable, but of course that didn't stop 'Drew' Jackson from complaining. Constantly. The chopper (a UH-1 Iroquois, commonly called a Huey) was managing to stay in the air, at least for the time being. However, it seemed to the two passengers – or at least, the two _conscious _passengers – that the Huey remaining airborne was not exactly a clear-cut issue.

The rotors were causing the main body of the helicopter to vibrate disconcertingly, causing no small amount of trouble for the pair. For one thing, it was rather hard for them to keep their balance as the aged Huey juddered through the air, for another... well, it wasn't exactly fun to run around stopping comatose kids from rolling out of the Huey. Their superior Huxley would rip them apart if they lost anybody to something as stupid as falling from the chopper. Quite possibly literally. Drew grumbled to himself whilst his partner just paid attention to the task at hand.

"Don't see why we have to take this goddamn detail…" Drew began, but further than that the man with him: 'Chicken' Aaron, stopped listening and concentrated completely on what he was doing. Their task was to scatter a number of the students across the Island itself, making sure that they did it both quickly and without causing undue harm to the kids. Some distance away, Aaron could see another Huey flying over the island too, with much the same task in mind. He wished he'd been assigned to the other chopper... at least that would have been tolerable, even if Dex had been in a foul mood since the hostage had KO'd him with a single kick.

"Worst job... worst partner..." Drew went on under his breath. However, in the cacophonous confines of the Huey, his pitching was well off, and the comment was easily loud enough to carry to Aaron. Nonetheless, Aaron refrained from saying anything, simply because he was scared of Drew, much as he was scared of most of his 'comrades' a term he used very loosely indeed. In fact, Aaron was scared of the _other _person on the Huey too – the pilot; Silver. Then again, even Kade was at least wary of Silver, and Kade was a tried and true nutcase.

Aaron would be the first to admit that he was a coward, and on this occasion, well, well, out of his depth. He was a good enough shot, at least on the firing range, but his accuracy dropped to less than 30% as soon as the targets were switched to human silhouettes. Aaron did have a measure of technical expertise but the real reason that he had been brought along was his main selling point: his intelligence. Still, Aaron was no soldier, not like the majority of the rest of the mercenaries, and was looked down upon almost universally by the rest of the group. Aaron knew that they saw him as a spineless pretty boy, who spent more time styling his hair than he ever would fighting.

Aaron would agree wholeheartedly that he didn't belong there. The only reason that Aaron was a part of the operation was that he was employed by Chief; the rotund, jovial man who was in charge of all of the technology behind the game. Aaron was probably the closest companion Chief had, and knew him perhaps better than anybody else did. Appearances were deceptive, and behind the huge gut, fatherly smile and carefree attitude, Chief concealed a mind that was sharp as a razor. Even Aaron was severely out of his depth when it came to debate with Chief, and he knew that the man was far cleverer than he could ever hope to be. Aaron found it a cruel irony that such an intelligent and philosophical man would agree to turning his mind to what was, for all intents and purposes, murder. Aaron couldn't help but wonder what kind of offer had been made to convince Chief to join the operation. He would have liked to think it was a threat or blackmail, but Chief had thrown himself into his work wholeheartedly and Aaron had to admit; the man didn't have the look of one fearing for his reputation, or his family's safety. Nevertheless, the offer had been made, and since Aaron was on Chief's payroll, as well as being his close confidant, he'd come along with him, and been dragged into this… Battle Royale shit.

From the controls of the Huey, Silver turned slightly so that she could regard the two men in the passenger compartment of the chopper. She flicked a platinum blond lock out of her eyes, tucking it behind the radio gear she was wearing over her ears. Silver was fully aware that the others were frightened of her. It was in the furtive glances they threw her way, it was in the carefully measured fashion they engaged her in conversation, it was in the manner they flinched when she snapped at them. But for all that, she didn't really care all that much. Silver was something of a solitary person anyway, and people taking pains to avoid her suited her just fine. All it meant was that she received plenty of time to herself, and simultaneously avoided the major problems that would normally be associated with being the only female soldier in the group.

Back in the rear, Aaron found himself lost in thought. He was twenty-one years old, and here he was helping kids who in some cases were barely three years younger than him to their deaths. Why? Because he didn't have the guts to stand up and tell Drew, Huxley, anyone, to fuck right off. Couldn't work up the nerve to turn to Chief and say 'What the hell?'. Aaron wasn't a man of action, and when it came right down to it, he was afraid, plain and simple. He was dragged by his thoughts by a shout from Drew, who was manhandling a kid to the doors of the Huey.

"Chicken! Get your head out of the goddamn clouds and help me! This kid is goddamn fat!"

"Alright, right goddamn away Mr. Goddamn Jackson goddamn _sir_," Aaron muttered under his breath. Drew seemed incapably of refraining from emphasising every sentence he spoke with a 'goddamn' or two, something which had begun to grate on Aaron a good deal. Silver brought the Huey as close to the ground as she was able to. The loss of altitude would cost them time, sure enough, but it was better than risking the kids getting smashed into little pieces by a drop from too great a height. As it was, Aaron expected that more than a few of the kids would be waking up with bruises.

"Which goddamn kid is this anyway Chicken?" Drew, being far too lazy to check himself, gave the daypack beside the student a kick in Aaron's direction. The younger man picked it up to examine the name that had been crudely daubed onto it. So far as Aaron was aware, the names of the students hadn't been known to anyone beforehand. It was information they'd been forced to extract from the hostage, a turn of phrasing that made Aaron wince. He wouldn't wish the tender mercies of the towering Baz on anyone. Except possibly Drew, but that was besides the point.

"Um… Boy #5 Peter Scheimer." Aaron felt the pack carefully, trying to figure out what it contained. "It feels like he's got a gun in there," Aaron opened it to check and spied a shotgun nestling amidst the supplies Huxley had provided the kids with. "Yeah, a shotgun," Drew spat out of the open helicopter doors in disgust, an affronted look coming over his face as he glared at the unconscious Scheimer.

"What a goddamn waste! What's the point of giving a goddamn lardass like this a good weapon? We want a goddamn show!" Drew wasn't only annoying, he was _stupid _and annoying.

"The weapons were giving out _randomly, _Drew," Aaron said through clenched teeth. "_Random _being the key word there,"

"Shut goddamn up Chicken," Drew snapped back, showing terrible disregard for common grammar.

"If you two old women are finished..." Silver called back. "We've got a 6AM start set out for us and I don't think I have to spin scare stories about what Huxley will do if we're late," both men immediately stopped arguing, grabbed hold of Scheimer by the armpits and lower legs, and unceremoniously dumped him out of the Huey's open doors. Drew picked up the daypack, weighed it in his hands a moment, then sighed and tossed it out after the rotund student, who had landed on the fringes of an area of woodland.

"Goddamn _waste_," Drew muttered again as Silver brought the helicopter around to head for a different location. After all, they couldn't have all of the students running into each other right away. He glanced back into the centre of the Huey, checking how many kids were left to distribute. Aaron saw the eyes of his erstwhile comrade light up, and his heart sank. As a general rule of thumb, if Drew found something fun or amusing, odds were that it would be something that Aaron didn't like.

"Would you look at this Chicken? Goddamn turn up for the books," Aaron looked over at Drew, saw him standing over a student, and winced. Even though he already had his suspicions, Aaron spoke up to question Drew anyway.

"What do you mean Drew?" the other crouched beside the kid and rolled them over, revealing them as a stunning redhead with somewhat fierce looks.

"Are you goddamn _blind_ Chicken? Check out how fine this chick is?" Drew's expression changed from a broad grin to a leer. "And legal too, if that kind of things bothers you,"

"What bothers me is that you're talking about somebody who is _unconscious _and were they awake, wouldn't touch you if you were the last man on earth?" where the hell had that one come from? Aaron just wanted to shrink up, curl into a ball and die. A glint came into Drew's eyes as he stared his compatriot down. What had possessed him to open his mouth?

"Sorry Chicken, I don't think I quite caught that one. _What did you just goddamn say!?_" Drew stood up, leaving the student, though not before slowly running a hand across her face, smirking all the while. Aaron was not by any means a big guy, and the muscular Drew, although not exactly huge, was still much bigger in comparison. Aaron didn't back down, knowing that now that Drew had scented blood in the water, so to speak, he was never going to let it go without a fight.

"I think Drew, that you _goddamn _heard," Drew was just bringing back a fist and Aaron preparing to dodge when Silver's voice rang out again.

"Jesus _Christ_! Can you two shut up for five seconds? Frankly I don't give a fuck if you two beat the everloving crap out of each other, but do me a favour and do it when it _isn't _going to be my neck on the block. In case you've forgotten, we have a fucking job to do. Sort out your little disagreement another time or _I will kick your asses so hard you will be vomiting shit_!"

Drew stood down, glowering, allowing his fist to fall to his side. However, before turning to get the next kid ready for the drop off, he leaned in close to Aaron.

"You got lucky Chicken," he hissed. "But I will goddamn _end _you as soon as I get the chance. Got that?" Drew backed away and formed his hand into a gun shape, then pointed it at Aaron. The message was very clear indeed.

_And now Aaron, you have got yourself into some serious, 'goddamn' shit._


End file.
